Bedfellows
by Scandalacious Intentions
Summary: You can tell a lot about a person based on the bedfellows they keep - whether they be a person's best friend or a notorious werewolf. Musings from the mattress of Nymphadora Tonks.


**Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. Quite literally actually, if you discount the clothes on my back.**

**A/N: I'm not even sure what brought this on. I was looking through some notes on my first year and I found a draft of a poem I had attempted to write and never finished. Apologies for the length of this one.**

**1981**

Twitchit is old now. She is blind and partially deaf. Before Nymphadora was born, she was her father's cat - a sleek silver tabby with bright green eyes. In her old age, she has taken to curling up in the crook of the eight year old girl's knees when Ted's daughter sleeps in the fetal position.

Nymphadora doesn't sleep much. She spends the majority of her nights staring at the ceiling. Her room is dark as her mother does not allow her to have a light on. Andromeda says that it merely encourages her to stay awake.

How, Nymphadora wonders, is it possible to go to sleep after being told that your second cousin is now incarcerated on the charge of mass murder? How is it possible to go to sleep knowing that he met you, held you, babysat you? How is it possible to go to sleep until you remember him?

Nymphadora can't remember his name and she's not sure why she is asking the tabby cat to remind her. He looks like her mother. They share the same ebony hair and silver eyes. She can't remember anything else about him. Except that he is tall.

She has asked her mother to tell her about him on countless occasions, but Andromeda puts her off and assures her that she will tell her everything when she's older. Nymphadora thinks this is a little unfair. No time and date has ever been specified and she's already older than she was yesterday.

She contents herself by musing on what little she remembers of him. He came to Sevenoaks just once (that she can remember) and didn't make much of an impression. She can't even remember the sound of his voice and yet, she was six when she last heard it.

Nymphadora squeezes her cat to her chest. Twitchit mews loudly in protest, but resigns herself to the inevitable and allows Nymphadora to scratch under her chin.

The cat waits for her bedfellow to fall asleep before escaping to make a bed in the crook of Nymphadora's knees.

Nymphadora doesn't mind her abandoning her post. She is used to her pet's sleeping habits and she likes her own space to sleep in anyway.

**1985**

Andromeda is pleased with the friend that her daughter has chosen to stay for a week this summer. She approves of Thalia Maynard because she giggles and wears pastel colours. She calls Nymphadora 'Nymph' which is the affectionate name Andromeda wishes her husband had chosen for his daughter. 'Dora' sounds awfully common.

Thalia, while not ugly by a long shot, is also less conventionally pretty than her best friend. She has wild honey coloured curls that spring from her head in all directions, caramel skin, and cinnamon-brown eyes. She has inherited a large nose and strong chin from her Greek father. 'Nymph' has alabaster skin and a heart shaped face with silver eyes. Her mother knows she will be beautiful when she grows out of wearing dungarees and pig snouts.

The girls giggle until the early hours of the morning, but Andromeda remembers this herself and hopes that giggling with another girl will help her daughter learn to fit in.

Perhaps it ought to, but it doesn't. Thalia talks about boys and make-up she wishes her father would let her wear, but Nymph has also befriended Charlie Weasley who talks about dragons and hiking and battles and trolls.

For now, Thalia remains her best friend.

"I wish I could do what you can."

Nymph rolls her eyes. "It's not as fun as it sounds, honestly. When I was little, I practically lived in a balaclava in case I decided it would be funny to give myself a beak or green hair or something."

Thalia doesn't listen. She doesn't listen to anything that might shatter her illusions. It infuriates her friend, and part of her knows it, but the knowledge of this also shatters Thalia's illusions, so she continues.

"And you must be able to pick up anything in a sale and make it fit you."

Nymph rolls her eyes. "It doesn't really bother me."

Thalia sighs. "I think I'd just give myself enormous boobs."

Nymph rolls over and settles her head into her pillow. It's too late to reason with Thalia, so she falls asleep to the sound of her wittering on.

**June 1989**

It's Thalia's idea to sun themselves beside the lake on the last day of term. The sun is high in the sky and beating down on them.

"I don't see why we can't sit in the shade," complains Nymph.

Thalia clicks her tongue and closes her eyes against the sun's glare. "Then no-one would see us."

"Oh, who cares?"

"_I_ care, Nymph. I care."

Nymph rolls her eyes. She knows only too well that this is merely an opportunity for her friend to show off her magnificent bosom, resplendent in her tight white shirt.

"He's seen your tits by now, surely."

Thalia laughs. It is not her usual giggle, but a deep and throaty sound that turns every head at the lake. "Oh, he's seen everything."

Nymph knows that she oughtn't be shocked at this news. Thalia is beautiful and extremely popular. Thalia has had many boyfriends. She's never been serious about them before - at least, not serious enough to… Maybe she isn't serious about him. Maybe she's just trying to wind her up.

"You've shagged him then?"

Thalia adjusts her sunglasses. "Of course I have." She glances at her friend, catching sight of her mouth forming a perfect 'O'. "Oh, don't tell me you're still a virgin!" When Nymph doesn't reply, she sits up and stares at her, raising her sunglasses above her head and pushing back her mane of hair. "No way!"

Nymph isn't sure why she does it, but she manages a laugh. "Of course I'm not."

"Sweet Merlin! Why didn't you tell me?" She grins. "Oh my God, Nymph. This is huge. Who did you lose it to?"

She can't think of anyone so Nymph smiles evasively and changes the subject.

**September 1989**

The first summer that Tonks and Thalia don't visit one another during the holidays is over and Tonks thinks their conversation has been forgotten. She thinks she's home and dry vis-à-vis virginity and doesn't have to worry about the impression she makes on the student body. She tries not to care. After all, she dresses differently, talks differently, and actively encourages anarchy.

She tries not to care, but she does.

So she approaches the only person able to help her - the only person she would allow to help her out of her predicament - while he is alone in the Gryffindor dormitory. It's the only place she feels might be private in the early afternoon.

"Look, I'm not asking you to actually sleep with me, OK? I know I'm being ridiculous, but I told a lie because I can't stand her making me feel so inferior. If she asks, will you just say you shagged me?"

Charlie Weasley only nods. His brow is slightly wrinkled and his thick eyebrows almost hide his eyes. He is obviously deeply disturbed by female dynamics. Tonks knows that Charlie doesn't much care for things that he can't understand so she's touched when he asks her if she's all right.

She's not, but she lies semi-convincingly.

"If you _do_ want someone to-"

"Are you offering me a pity-fuck?"

Charlie shrugs. "The way I see it, we're in the same boat so why don't we? Everybody's been saying it'll happen so…"

Tonks stares dumbly at him.

"It was obviously a bad idea. Sorry, I just thought-"

"No, no. It's brilliant. It's a great idea. Problem solved." She's secretly pleased that she won't die an old maid, or remain virgo intacta until she's eighty, when she's swindled by a conman offering her a thrill on her way to the cemetery in exchange for her valuables. She could do a lot worse than Charlie Weasley, she thinks.

"Oh, right. So how do you want to do this?"

"Can I use your bathroom to get changed?"

She thinks she sees Charlie's confusion in his eyes, but she can't very well tell him that she wants to make her legs longer, take a couple of inches off her waist, and add a cup-size to her breasts, so Tonks chooses not to elaborate.

"Isn't that a bit clinical? I mean, shouldn't we be undressing each other in the throws of passion or something?"

Tonks raises one eyebrow. "Charles, when you look at me, do you feel like you're in the throws of passion?"

Charlie averts his eyes and addresses her feet. "I don't want to offend you."

"You won't. I don't feel that way when I look at you. It would be a bit awkward if you did, don't you think?" Tonks marches over to the Gryffindor boys' bathroom and slams the door behind her.

She takes a deep breath, pushes her crimson hair back from her face, and stares at the reflection in the mirror. She can almost pass for pretty like this. She had morphed her hair red and eyes green. She had hidden her sunburn and made her eyelashes longer in order to bat them in the hope that it might convince Charlie.

She can pass for pretty, but the reflection in the mirror isn't really her.

Tonks emerges to find her bedfellow waiting for her with the covers around him. She slips into the other side of the bed and watches him. Charlie, though Tonks is sure he can feel her eyes attempting to meet his, is staring at the ceiling.

"I'm ready," she says eventually.

Charlie turns over to face her. "Right. So…"

"I think you should stop over-thinking it and just kiss me."

Tonks' first kiss is unpracticed and as unromantic as she's always suspected it would be.

"It's not really going to work, is it," Charlie says, smiling grimly.

Tonks shakes her head and they lie naked in Charlie's bed, laughing at themselves and their own clinical attempts at sex.

"But remember, if anyone asks-" says Tonks as she reaches for her shirt.

"I know, I know. We were banging like shutters in a hurricane."

"Thanks, Charlie."

Charlie sighs good-naturedly. "That's all right."

**1992**

As far as Tonks is concerned, Charlie Weasley has her virginity and if she chooses to go out in London and dance with a man who buys her Firewhiskey to ensure she is inebriated before he makes his move, well then, she can.

Her flat is in Islington, paid for by her doting father. Her mother doesn't come to visit her there and insists that her daughter come home on Sundays for lunch.

So even though she knows she has to be back in her childhood home tomorrow afternoon, Tonks knocks back her whiskey and water. She holds up her empty glass and sways her hips - the only dancing she feels comfortable even attempting.

"Do you live round here?" he shouts in her ear in a bid to be heard over the hits of _The Witch Hunters_.

The man she's picked up is a little older than her, but not old enough to be her father and therefore, fair game. He has jet black hair and blue eyes. He's just her type. He's a little on the short side, but in its natural state, her body is only just over five feet tall. She can deal with a short man.

She invites him back to her flat and, vaguely disgusted with herself even in the state she's already in, shows him to her room.

She assures him she will only be a minute and dashes into her kitchen, closing the door tight behind her. She leans against the counter and allows her electric blue hair to fall in her face. She runs the cold tap and wets her forehead.

As much as she may be able to convince herself that she gave her virginity to Charlie Weasley, she didn't. She's not sure she wants to give it to a man she will probably never see again. Maybe, thinks Tonks, virginity isn't all it's cracked up to be. Everybody turns it into something that means a lot, but really, who ends up marrying the man they give it to these days? Slightly comforted, she heads back to her room.

When she wakes in the morning, he is gone. It is only as she boils her kettle that she realises she doesn't even know his name. She can't face her own reflection and instead, spends the day locked in her flat, in the guise of Celestina Warbeck.

**1993**

She's twenty and she's never had a boyfriend. It depresses her more than she cares to admit. Tonks begins to think that she will die alone. She tells herself this every morning in order to lessen the disappointment when her prophecy comes true.

So when she walks into training, the last thing she's expecting is to be asked how she's spending the evening.

He's tall, broad, and too classically beautiful to be looking in the direction of a clumsy girl, chewing too loudly, and wearing a purple skirt with yellow Dr. Marten's.

"I'm Orestes."

"I'm…you can call me Tonks."

Orestes grinned. "You're training to be an Auror?"

Tonks raised her eyebrows. "Of course. Aren't you?"

He shakes his head. "I've just been sent here today for the Stealth and Tracking. I'm going into the Werewolf Capture Unit. I'm just a bit of a clumsy bastard really. I'm recapping so they sent me here."

Tonks frowns. "Oh God, that'll be me."

"I'm sure you'll be fine." He clears his throat. "Look, I don't suppose you're free on a Friday night, but um…"

Tonks can't quite believe her luck. Her heart is beating in her mouth at the thought that this classically good looking man with dark curly hair and ice-blue eyes, has any interest in her whatsoever.

"Christ, listen to me. You'd think this would get easier. Would you let me buy you a drink tonight?"

She beams. It lights up her amber eyes. "Yeah, sure. You know, if you really want to."

Halfway through the afternoon, Tonks gets the chance to show off her abilities, adopting the form of an elderly witch and playacting her way through an interrogation scenario. When she returns to her 'natural' form - today tall, blonde, and lithe - Orestes expresses the envy she has come to expect from most people. Her usual response is a mildly self-deprecating story about pig snouts, but she chooses not to tell it today - not to a man she wants to impress.

After that, she doesn't see him at work. Their relationship consists of struggling to see one another after long and tiring days in their respective departments. She thinks it probably won't last long, but, though Tonks is never going to admit it to anybody, she feels so lucky to have a man like him interested in her that she hopes it'll last forever.

She thinks she might be falling love with him until he takes her back to his home one Tuesday evening. His bedroom is minimalist. His personality is not stamped across the room as hers would be. It's a little unnerving.

"Can you go blonde tonight?"

Tonks willingly changes her hair colour from black to blonde. "Anything else?" she jokes, unprepared for the answer.

"Can you make your boobs bigger?"

Staggered, Tonks replies in what she hopes is a snide tone. "How big is 'bigger'?"

"I don't know - just a bit bigger. Can you make your hair curly? Oh and maybe lose a couple of inches. You're looking really tall."

When it's all over, she doesn't stay the night. Claiming to have training early in the morning, Tonks promises to lock the door behind her and heads home to cry in the privacy of her own bed.

She hates herself for being too afraid to let him go. She avoids her own eyes in the mirror every morning. How can she have any amount of integrity when she allows her boyfriend to mould her into his fantasy every time he takes her to bed?

It's only when their relationship starts to get serious that she decides it's gone far enough. Orestes starts to bring up the subject of co-habiting as she tries to sneak out of his bed. Tonks is terrified because she knows that if this bed becomes hers, she'll have no pillow in which to sob.

"Right," she says, for the first time in months, businesslike. Tonks throws the covers back and reaches for her creased white shirt. "I'm off."

Orestes rolls over in time to catch sight of her falling as she struggles to straighten her tights. He leans over the edge of the bed, watching her pull them up to her waist as she lies on the floor.

"Need a hand up?" He offers her his outstretched hand and Tonks has never felt more proud in her life. Passing her N.E.W.T.s with Exceeds Expectations or above, being accepted into Auror training, perfecting a particularly tricky little charm that nobody else managed, all pale into insignificance compared to this moment.

"Why don't you shove it up your arse instead?"

**1994**

Eros plays Quidditch. Tonks thinks this is a hobby and that he has misinterpreted her question.

"Yes, but what do you _do_? What do you do for a living?"

Eros laughs. "I play Quidditch."

Tonks almost blushes. "Sorry. I thought-"

He waves it off. "Everyone does. It's all right. No-one's heard of me, I don't think. At this rate, I'll be surprised to even get a Christmas card off my own mother."

As blind dates go, it's been well set up, Tonks thinks. This is because she has regained her friendship with Thalia Maynard who busy-bodies her way through everyone else's lives. Still, she wasn't expecting a professional Quidditch player.

"So which team do you play for?"

"The Appleby Arrows. Have you heard of us?"

Tonks has, but she doesn't like a man with an ego. "I'm afraid not, sorry."

She likes his smile. He's not quite as attractive as the last man she allowed to buy her a drink, but she doesn't think anyone will be. He's not unattractive by any means. Eros has a tan that's slowly fading after his last match in France against the Quiberon Quafflesnatchers. His pale chocolate coloured eyes twinkle mischievously. There's something about him that draws her in. His nose is a little large, but it's a minor flaw in the grand scheme of things.

So she agrees to see him again.

It's Quidditch season and he's hardly ever in the country. Neither of them thinks their relationship is serious enough for her to follow him anywhere, though she always wishes him luck before a match.

Sometimes, he plays at home against British teams and spends the night at her flat in Islington.

In bed, she is tall, blonde, and lithe - the way she has learned to be in order to hide behind her insecurities.

Eros says nothing and she comes to resent him for it. When she takes him to bed, he makes her feel claustrophobic. She knows it's a terrible thing to say, but she is almost grateful for the sudden influx of Death Eater activity. It gives her something to occupy herself. It gives her a reason not to see him.

They don't officially break up. They just stop meeting one another and Tonks throws herself into work, ignoring John Dawlish's cries of pride when his team, the Appleby Arrows, makes it to the Regional Finals.

Even her home-life is suffering as a result. If she hears one more time that the clock is ticking, she will be tempted to punch her mother in the face.

"Once you stop looking, he'll find you."

"Oh, stop it, Mum. No-one believes that crap."

Andromeda looks stung and Tonks is immediately sorry.

When she returns to her Islington flat, there is a letter from Moody waiting for her. She is about to find out that her mother was right.

**1995**

The last person she wants to be put on duty with is Remus Lupin. He looks a little like he takes himself too seriously, though she knows this to be untrue after their first (and last) conversation during which she is convinced that she offended him.

"Which one do you think looks like a werewolf?" She cringes inwardly at the memory. If she had been Remus Lupin and someone had asked her such a question, proceeded by several stereotypical assumptions, she would have hexed them to kingdom come.

He is gracious and polite to her, though she believes she is undeserving of such treatment. He asks her what colour her hair is naturally. She is so shocked that her hair loses its purple hue.

"Is that the metaphoragii answer to indecent exposure?" he asks, a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth.

With eight words, he's captured her constant attention. When he leaves the room, her eyes follow him. When he speaks to other women, she feels a little sick with envy. When he misses a meeting, she wonders where he is and hopes that he's merely running late.

Remus Lupin is the reason that she takes an interest in the Werewolf Rights Movement. He's the reason that she follows the phases of the moon. He's the reason that she starts listening to The Buzzcocks and learning their lyrics.

It starts with a long night. She's not sure what they're even celebrating by the time the bottle is half-empty. She's managed to drink Moody under the table and feels a sense of personal achievement. She slams her glass down and descends into giggles.

From across the counter, she catches sight of Lupin looking at her. She's relieved that she's a little drunk or she wouldn't have the nerve.

"What are _you _looking at?"

Lupin raises an eyebrow. "If only you'd added 'Punk'."

"You look at me all the time."

Lupin smiles. "Well, you're worthy of note. Your hair is eye-catching. Your shoes are always worth looking at."

Tonks is feeling brave and gets to her feet. "Oh. I thought you were being a dirty old man."

Lupin blushes and she immediately regrets it.

"Not that I think that's a bad thing. I fully intend on being a dirty old woman. In fact, I'm quite often a dirty _young_ woman."

It has the desired effect. His eyes meet hers. The tension is palpable. The silence is heavy in the air. Tonks feels her heartbeat accelerate. Each breath is shallow. She can hear her blood pound in her ears. She can't put into words how much she wants this man.

"You should go to bed," he says eventually.

So she does. She dreams of him for the first time and, when she wakes, she's too embarrassed to meet his eyes the next morning. Her mouth is dry and her cheeks are hot. She thinks it's obvious - that he's guessed she spent last night on fire for him.

He doesn't ask to share her bed. After months of skirting around the issue, she invites him. She knows he won't be impressed by her blonde and buxom routine so she keeps the appearance she chose that morning and strips to her underwear in the same clinical fashion, even folding her clothes as she goes along, that she has done since the afternoon spent with Charlie Weasley in 1989. She turns, hands on her hips, to face her bedfellow. He's looking at her like she's mad and Tonks has to convince herself to brazen it out.

"I thought _I_ was neat," he says, breaking the silence that threatens to engulf them.

Tonks laughs breathily. "How do you want me?"

Lupin merely looks at her. "I beg your pardon?"

Tonks gestures toward herself. "What do you find attractive?"

Understanding full well exactly what she means, but refusing to play along, Lupin answers truthfully. "Your laugh, the light you get in your eyes when you're absolutely furious, the way you hiss my name with the emphasis on the wrong syllable when you're angry with me, the fact that you don't care what people say about you, your legs in your purple skirt, the expression on your face when you're at a loss for words, your smile, the way you sing off key in the shower deliberately, the smell of your coconut shampoo. I could go on."

Tonks rolls her eyes, but she's blushing. "You know what I mean."

"It's completely up to you." Lupin takes a deep breath and removes his shirt. Some scars are fresh, bright red and glaring at her. Some have turned silver with age. Some are barely noticeable. His left shoulder is covered with jaw marks. "Whatever imperfections you think you have, I'm willing to bet I can top the lot."

So her legs lose the inches she has added to them, her hair turns a shade of mouse brown that she has always violently hated, her eyes lighten from black to bright silver, her nose lengthens, and dimples develop.

"How can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you're not attractive?"

She blushes a deep shade of magenta. She wants to tell him that she knows he's lying, but as he kisses her slowly, one hand cupping her cheek as the other wraps around her waist, she allows herself to believe him.

He is gentle with her. His movements are absolutely controlled and he takes his time. He gives her a feminine nickname that she takes to. He allows her to fall hopelessly in love with him.

He also talks in his sleep and cannot lie still, but Tonks supposes she had better take the rough with the smooth.

**1998**

It is the middle of the afternoon and Dora knows that she probably won't sleep tonight if she naps now, but she's exhausted after a long night with a week-old baby who seemed to be crying for the sake of crying.

He's all smiles now as she picks him up and takes him to bed with her. She wants to ask him why he can't behave like this at three o'clock in the morning.

"Well, there'll never be any doubt who your father is," she tells him, yawning as her head nestles into her pillow. "He can't go a night without waking me up either. Though I can usually kick him until he shuts up."

Dora can hear her husband humming in their kitchen and smell the beef he is cooking there. Her son is looking up at her, gazing at his mother in quiet adoration.

It's taken her twenty-five years to be able to say it, but she's never been happier.


End file.
